Machine Wash Hot Tumble Dry Low
by alice.in.ink
Summary: "iflinasur," Peter mumbled into his glass, the blush returning. "I'm sorry. I don't speak mole people." Peter huffed out a sigh and miserably met Tony's eyes. "I fell in a sewer." Tony looked the teen over with a new wave of revulsion. "Jesus Christ, Parker." ... Do you ever fall into sewers and then need your billionaire mentor to wash your super-suit? Peter Parker does too.


**Some fluff for you all since I couldn't get the idea of the Spidey suit in a washing machine out of my head.**

"H-hey, Mr. Stark," Peter greeted hesitantly, swinging from building to building.

There was a long pause. "What'd you do, kid?"

Peter blinked and continued swinging. "I didn't do anything! I just, uh, is—is this a bad time?"

"I'm thinking I'll make time considering you're calling me from the suit."

" _Psh!_ I'm not, I'm not calling you from the _suit!_ "

There was a beat of silence, and then suddenly Tony's face lit up half of Spider-Man's vision. (In response, Peter totally, definitely did not shriek.)

"OK, we're going to try that lie again," Tony told him, "but I need you to really feel it this time."

Peter slipped a bit down his web but quickly repositioned and kept swinging. "That's, like, a total invasion of privacy, Mr. Stark!"

Tony squinted indignantly. "What am I, your creeping stepdad? You're in my tech.

"And how 'bout we cut to the part where you tell me why you're calling."

Peter swallowed. "I was just, um, wondering if you were home. In the, in the Tower."

"Freshly stepped out of a board meeting on Level 60. Why? You coming over? Please tell me you're coming over; I could really use a bleeding teenager to get me out of this one."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm not bleeding, Mr. Stark."

Tony shook his head with a look of disappointment. "The one time I ask you to bleed on command, kid."

Peter gave a final swing and landed right on the window of Stark Tower's Level 59. (So he was a level off—sue him.) He crawled up the glass and peeked into Level 60's window.

Tony caught sight of him. "I'll take it. Meet me at the penthouse."

Peter gave a salute but before he could even resuming crawling up the rest of the building, an Iron Man suit was picking him up underneath his arms.

Peter looked up at the suit and sputtered, " _Mr. Stark?_ "

But the call had been disconnected, so Peter could do nothing but, well, _dangle_ as the suit carried him through the air and to the very top floor of the Tower. Upon reaching the balcony, the windows opened, and Peter was gently deposited in the penthouse living room.

"Thanks, FRI," Tony called to the suit. He walked into the room and nodded towards the flying-away Iron Man suit. "You like? I'm calling it the Wayward Baby Protocol."

Peter sputtered indignantly, not even really forming words beyond his embarrassment. Tony smirked and walked over to the kitchen.

"I was fine, Mr. Stark!"

Tony chose to ignore that, pouring himself a glass of orange juice before eyeing over the kid. "What's up with the wet underoos?"

Underneath the mask, heat flushed to Peter's cheeks.

"Aw you did something embarrassing, didn't you?" Tony asked with a fond grin. "You're unusually silent. Karen, is the kid blushing?"

" _No!_ "

"Peter is blushing, Mr. Stark," the AI reported dutifully.

Peter ripped off the mask, grumbling about sell-outs.

Tony took a swig of the orange juice, grimaced, and then walked over to the teen. "Here. I poured this for you."

As Peter accepted the glass, Tony's nose wrinkled in distaste. "God, what the hell died in your suit?" He gagged for good measure.

"iflinasur," Peter mumbled into his glass, the blush returning.

"I'm sorry. I don't speak mole people."

Peter huffed out a sigh and miserably met Tony's eyes. "I fell in a sewer."

Tony looked the teen over with a new wave of revulsion. "Jesus Christ, Parker."

"I was chasing this guy," Peter rushed to explain, "and the guy tried to escape through a manhole cover, but I caught him before he could escape, and I webbed him up, and I was walking away, but I forgot to put the manhole cover back on—" Peter stopped, letting his misery wash over him. But when he looked up, Tony was typing into his StarkPhone. To be honest, Peter was a little insulted.

Until a hologram sprang out of the phone, perfectly displaying a video of Spider-Man doing finger guns and backing straight into the open manhole. A high-pitched scream could be heard before a hefty splash.

In horror, Peter looked from the hologram up to Tony.

Tony, still facing the hologram, just raised his eyes to stare at Peter.

"Please just help me clean my suit," Peter rushed out, despair coating each syllable.

As Tony tucked the phone back into his pocket, Peter could tell the older man was schooling his amusement.

Peter groaned. "Why did someone have to film that?"

"Don't worry about it, kid," Tony assured him, beckoning for the teen to follow as he walked towards the hallway. "Every superhero is known to trip into a sewer or two." He wasn't even trying to hide his grin now.

Peter's shoulders slumped and his feet dragged as he trailed after his mentor. "That's gonna go viral, isn't it?"

"100,000 views and counting," Tony confirmed over his shoulder, leading the way into Peter's room. "And that's after twelve minutes."

Peter's eyes went heavenwards.

Tony stopped at Peter's ensuite bathroom. "Alright, strip the gunk; shower up. I'll get the suit back to smelling of fresh daisies and teenage angst."

With mutters of self-loathing, Peter complied. Tony ruffled the kid's grimy hair and whisked the suit away.

* * *

After his shower, Peter had changed into the sweats and MIT t-shirt that had been left out for him. Finger-combing at his now clean hair—it had taken _three_ washes to get out the smell—he walked out of his room in search of Tony.

As he walked down the hallway, he passed an open pair of doors, revealing a laundry room. And swirling in the bubbling washer was a familiar flash of red.

Peter's eyes widened as he called out, " _Mr. Stark?!_ "

"What?" The man's answering voice was surprisingly close.

Peter turned to see Tony a few feet away, tapping at his phone. Peter pointed into the laundry room. "My suit's in the washing machine? _My suit can go in the washing machine?_ "

Tony looked up to give him an incredulous look. "Does it look like I'm running a dry cleaning business on the side?"

The elevator doors _dinged_ , and someone called out, "Tones?"

"Over here!" Tony called back, returning his focus to his phone.

Peter looked back at the churning washing machine. "I could've put it in the washer _this entire time?_ " He turned to Tony for confirmation.

Tony threw him a what-do-you-want-me-to-do face. "I thought you were saving on quarters."

Rhodey came around the corner, tossing a greeting to Peter before turning to Tony. "What do you need, Tones? I'm supposed to be meeting with the Director in thirty."

Peter turned to the washer again. Millions of dollars. In a common, household washer. Laundry detergent was cleaning Stark technology.

It wasn't until Peter heard the familiar scream that he realized what was happening. Whirling around, he saw Tony Stark and James Rhodes grinning down at the StarkPhone.

Peter groaned in despair. "Please let it die."

With a swipe of his finger, Tony let the video broadcast between them as a hologram. Peter falling and shrieking began to repeat, playing on a constant, same-second loop.

Rhodey tried but couldn't stop the grin. "Who made the remix?"

"Me," Tony responded, his voice a little too gleeful.

Peter walked forwards until he was right in front of Tony and then began banging his head against his mentor's chest.

Tony chuckled and dug his hand through Peter's wet curls. "Alright, alright, I'll take it down." Keeping his hand on the back of Peter's neck, Tony led his kid back to the main living area as Rhodey followed.

The elevator _dinged_.

"Tony Stark, you better be missing a limb for ditching that board meeting," Pepper threatened, her heels clicking as she marched into the living space.

"I've got something better," Tony called back, dropping Peter like a hot potato and walking towards his fiancée with his phone outstretched.

Peter slumped down face-first onto the kitchen island. Next time, he hoped the sewer would just let him drown.

A hand clapped his shoulder as a familiar scream-then-splash played again (and again and again for the rest of the night).

"FRIDAY, send this to the Avengers group-chat!"


End file.
